


Rehearsals

by foolishgames



Category: High School Musical
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishgames/pseuds/foolishgames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ryan convinces Chad to dance in the Fall Musicale, things change between them.  Featuring: Scheming, singing, dancing, cunning plans, wacky misunderstandings, small girls in leotards, <strike>one thousand elephants,</strike> boykissing, banter, musical reconciliation, and something resembling a plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal February 2008

He finds Ryan in the practice room, sitting against the wide windows overlooking the golf course of Lava Springs, shadowy and distant in the darkness. Chad stops in the doorway, looking at him, the way he’s kind of curled up on himself, chin on his knees.

“Hey,” he says softly, slipping through the door and shutting it behind him.

Ryan lifts his head and looks at him. He is not, as Chad had half-feared, crying. His eyes may be red, but his chin is set and his mouth hard. It softens some when he sees Chad, though.

“Hey,” Ryan replies. “Sorry I took off before. I just.” He shakes his head and looks away, hugging his knees awkwardly.

“Yeah,” says Chad and sits down beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, crumpling in his hand the staff memo Taylor had handed out. “I’m sorry. I know this meant a lot to you.”

Ryan scowls at the floor. “I wish everything wasn’t about Sharpay,” he says furiously. “I wanted to have one damned thing. One stupid show that wasn’t all about her. And she couldn’t even let me have that.”

“It sucks, man,” agrees Chad, and feels Ryan slump against him.

“I hate her sometimes,” he says. “And she doesn’t even care. She didn’t even do this because of me, it’s all about Troy, and I bet she hasn’t even realised that she’s screwing everything up for me.”

And that, Chad reflects, is probably the truest thing one could say about Sharpay.

“If it helps,” he offers, “and it probably won’t, but we all like you better.”

Ryan turns his head, twisting his mouth wryly. “It does help some,” he says.

~

Ryan sits with the basketball team at lunch a lot now. Not that any of them are anywhere near as cliquey as they used to be: even though they still gravitate to similar social groups, people breaking out of those groups are no longer regarded askance. So Ryan shyly showing up with his lunch tray and his hat on crooked on the first day gets barely an eyeblink, and Chad just shuffles over to make room.

Once he gets more comfortable, Ryan turns out to be a funny guy to have around. He’s got a quick sense of humour and a ready smile, and he dishes out teasing and sucks it up with equal grace.

By the second week back, he’s made himself a regular seat at their table, squished in between Zeke and Chad. Chad usually steals his hat at some point during the day. He like Ryan’s hats.

~

Chad’s got no idea how it happens. He and Ryan are arguing over some stupid thing, some ridiculous little non-issue like icecream flavours or movies or hats, the way they do, but Chad’s had a bad practice, with Coach Bolton yelling and snapping the whole time, and Ryan is stressed and high-strung.

And things just get out of control. One minute they’re bickering amiably over mystery meat in the cafeteria and the next they’re on their feet, standing two feet away from each other, yelling on top note.

It isn’t until the cafeteria goes silent around them that Chad realises what’s just come out of his mouth. It’s a word his mother had once slapped him for repeating it after hearing it from a boy a school, a horrible, hateful word, and he’s just spat it at his friend. As soon as it’s left his lips, he wants to yank it back, but it’s too late. Ryan flinches like he’s been slapped, blood draining out of his face, and Chad takes a step forward, reaches out, mouth open to apologise.

But the hurt on Ryan’s face shifts to anger, and he turns and is gone before Chad can stammer out a single word. Silence ripples out from their table, and Chad can feel a hundred pairs of eyes on him.

“You’re dead, Danforth,” says Sharpay, and he’s never heard her sound like that, voice gone cold and shaking.

~

“I’m sorry,” he says, helplessly aware of just how tiny the words are.

Ryan face is turned away, not looking at him. All Chad can see is the edge of his jaw, the slope of his brow, the hard, tight set of his shoulders. He tries again. “I know I was an idiot. I should never have called you that. I’m really sorry.”

“Did you mean it?” Ryan’s voice is calm and even.

“No,” says Chad straightaway, then takes a deep breath and launches into the speech he’d worked out with Taylor. “I’m an asshole. I was mad and tired and you were there, and I just lashed out. I don’t have any excuses, and I’m really sorry, and Ryan please, just look at me?”

Ryan turns his head, and his face, like his voice, is shuttered and emotionless. Chad knows by now that that’s bad – when Ryan is happy, he can’t hide it, but when he’s not, he tries really hard to conceal it.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, “and I wish I could take it back, and I know you have no reason to believe me or trust me or anything, but I’m really sorry. I want to make this better. I’ll do anything to make it better.”

He spots a little chin-wobble before Ryan turns to gaze out the window again. “So you don’t think that,” says Ryan, like he’s trying to get his head around it.

“No,” says Chad fiercely, and steps closer until he’s right in Ryan’s space. He touches Ryan’s shoulder, firm, palm against the soft fabric of his shirt. “I don’t think that. You’re my friend, and you’re a good guy. That’s all that matters.”

“And you’re an asshole,” says Ryan, but it’s almost idle, and Chad feels something unclench in his belly. He hooks an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, puts his chin on Ryan’s shoulder.

“I know,” he says. “Did I mention I’m sorry?”

“Several times,” says Ryan dryly. “You also mentioned something about doing anything to get back in my good graces.”

“No nudity,” says Chad quickly, and feels Ryan’s shoulders twitch with laughter.

“Bit late to be making conditions,” he says, and tips his head so the ends of Chad’s curls brush his face.

“What?” says Chad warily.

Ryan grins, all mischief. “We always need more male dancers for the Fall Musical,” he remarks, and laughs at Chad’s expression.

“It’s a Musicale, thanks,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, and Ryan shoves him gently, grinning.

~

Even though he’s ninety percent sure Ryan was joking about the whole dancing thing, Chad shows up on audition day anyway. He even goes to the mall beforehand and makes up a t-shirt that says No way I’m wearing tights, Twinkletoes. It’s not exactly witty, but when Ryan spots it from across the room his whole face lights up with laughter, and it’s worth the five bucks it cost to screen-print it just for that. 

~

“I can’t believe you’re making me dance,” Chad says, muffled by the couch cushion over his face. “In the freaking musical.”

Ryan ruffles his hair. “I’m not doing it to torment you,” he promises. “You’re actually pretty good.”

Chad pulls the cushion away and looks up at Ryan, perched on the arm of the couch. “I can’t even pronounce my character’s name.”

“Mercutio,” Ryan tells him. “He’s really awesome. He’s Romeo’s best friend, and whenever Romeo starts mooning over girls, Mercutio tells dirty jokes and makes fun of him. And then he has a duel with Tybalt.”

“And dies.”

“And dies,” Ryan agrees. “But that’s going to be the major dance number for you, the duel scene. Since a lot of the rest of the play is romance and kind of wordy, it should be a really awesome number, very physical, hardcore.” He shoves at Chad’s feet until Chad lifts them, leaving space for him to sit down.

“Who’s playing Tybalt?” he mumbles drowsily, stretching out until his feet land in Ryan’s lap.

“That would be me,” says Ryan.

Chad blinks up at him. “Not playing Romeo?”

Ryan snorts, and his fingers circle Chad’s ankle. “With a better-than-average chance of my sister getting Juliet? No way in hell.” He looks contemplative. “And Romeo’s a whiny bitch anyway. Tybalt’s way more interesting.”

“So we’ll be dancing together?” says Chad, wriggling his toes. 

“Yep,” says Ryan. “And I get to kill you brutally. It should be very dramatic.”

Chad snickers half-heartedly, eyes drifting shut. “You choreographing?”

“Mm.” Ryan’s fingers tap against Chad’s anklebone in a steady rhythm. “Got some ideas already. We’ll work something out that’s good for both of us.”

“Awesome,” says Chad, and yawns, pressing the soles of his feet against Ryan’s thigh.

There’s the sound of jingling keys, and then the front door opens and two little leotard-clad girls tumble in and, upon spotting Ryan, immediately race over to the couch to jump on him.

“Girls!” scold Chad’s mother, coming in through the door with her arms full of groceries. “Leave him be, would you? Hi, Ryan, honey.”

“Hello, Mrs Danforth.” Ryan smiles sweetly at her.

“Hi, Mom,” says Chad pointedly.

“Hi, sweetie,” she says distractedly. “Help me with these bags, could you?”

Chad groans and heaves himself up off the couch to help unpack in the kitchen. By the time he gets back, Nicole and Jessica are proudly showing off their plies for Ryan, who is nodding appreciatively and correcting their posture.

“Head up, sweetheart, you’re a princess, not a blushing debutante,” he says, and Nicole nods and lifts her chin, straightening her spine. Jessica bounces, demanding attention, and Ryan takes her hand and twirls her around, and then has to do the same for Nicole until they’re both dancing around him in the space between the couch and the coffee table, laughing.

~

The practice in a room out the back of the theatre, snuggled away in the labyrinthine hallways and stairways that make up the backstage area.

“It’s actually under the stage itself,” Ryan tells him, pointing upward. The low ceiling is rigged with cabling and trapdoors, give the whole area a claustrophobic feel, but the floorspace is as large as the stage above, which is all they need. 

They dance without music first, setting and following the noise they make with their feet, the steady rhythm of their breath. Chad can feel the energy of it already in the skeleton shape of the dance. He’s not good, not like Ryan is with his instinctual feel for the motions and the music, but he likes this dance, likes dancing with Ryan, the push and pull, the graceful aggression.

He’s breathless by the third run-through, grinning like an idiot at the way the movements are starting to become familiar. He still compares himself to Ryan, unfavourably, but Ryan says it’s okay.

“That’s an aspect of the character,” he says as they’re sitting against the wall, huddled around Ryan’s iPod trying to find a song that fits the dance Ryan’s invented. “Tybalt’s the smooth one. Mercutio’s all happy-go-lucky. He’s charming, but a bit, you know, slapdash. Tybalt will have everything perfect, but Mercutio’s more carefree.” Ryan waves his hands around aimlessly.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better because I’m a sucky dancer,” Chad complains, and Ryan laughs.

“You’re not a sucky dancer, dude. You’re actually pretty good. You’re innately graceful, good rhythm, decent balance. You have,” more hand-waving ensues here, as Ryan searches for a word, “energy. Like you’re buzzing, always moving.” He snaps his fingers. “You’re happy to be moving, you know? Like dancing’s the most fun you’ve ever had.”

“It is,” says Chad, unthinkingly. Ryan looks surprised and pleased, and Chad backtracks hastily. “I mean, it’s a lot of fun. I like the way it feels.”

“Okay, Mr I-don’t-dance,” says Ryan, smirking.

Chad shoves him playfully, and Ryan shoves him back, and they play-wrestle on the worn carpeting until the bell rings to signal the end of lunch.

~

Taylor gestures as she talks; sharp, clear movements of her hands as she sketches out gradients and curves in the air. Chad leans his head on his hand and watches her instead of the textbook.

“Chad, are you listening?” she asks sharply, and he smiles and touches her hand.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says quietly, and watches her face go soft and fond. “And you’re really smart and nice. I think I like you better than any girl I’ve ever known.”

She raises an eyebrow, smiling. “Are you trying to get in my pants?”

“No,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I think I’m breaking up with you.”

She stares at him. “But. All that stuff you just said.” She looks hurt, and confused, and Chad wants to take back what he just said, but he puts his head down on the table instead.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m just – I’m confused, is what. And I don’t think I can do this, and it’s not fair on you.”

He hides his face in the cradle of his arms and listens to the steady sound of her breathing. He likes her, he really does.

She touches his shoulder tentatively. “Confused about what?”

“Nothing,” he says thickly. “It’s nothing, just stupid stuff.”

He waits for her to leave, or to get angry and start shouting or crying, or something. But she just sits there for a while longer, rubbing slow circles on his shoulder, breathing in and out in her quiet ‘I’m-thinking-really-hard’ way.

His stomach hurts.

“You know,” she says after a while, “if you were to tell me something, that would be okay. I wouldn’t get mad. And I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Something?” he says to his elbow.

“And it might help. Talking about it.” She puts her head down on the table next to him, so when he turns, they’re at eye-level.

“Not everybody might feel the same,” he says, and she nods.

“People are stupid that way.” She touches his hair, and one corner of her mouth quirks up.

“Come on, you big dumb jock. Work to be done.”

“Okay, geek.”

~

All-cast rehearsals for the play start the following week, and the look on Troy’s face when he sees Chad there, goofing around with Ryan, has to be seen to be believed.

“You’re playing Mercutio?” he asks stupidly while Ms Darbus waves her hands around and enunciates onstage.

Chad frowns. “Didn’t I tell you? I thought I told you.” He tries to remember. He’s sure he’d told Troy, and Troy had kind of nodded vaguely and complained about Sharpay while Gabriella looked unhappy.

Troy sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “You probably did. I’m sorry, man. I’ve been pretty out of it the last couple of weeks.”

“Something wrong?” asks Chad, slouching further down in his seat as Darbus warbles happily and points at Kelsi. On his other side, Ryan nudges him and grins, but Chad shakes his head and indicates Troy. Ryan nods.

Troy slouches in his seat. “Been fighting with Gabi a lot.” He picks at a loose thread in his jeans.

“’Bout anything in particular?” asks Chad.

Before any answer, Ms Darbus’ strident voice intrudes. “Mr Danforth, Mr Bolton, I hope I have not made a mistake in allowing a pair of uncultured sport aficionados such as yourselves into these hallowed halls.”

She’s standing over them, peering through her oversized glasses. Her scarf is a shade of purple that resembles nothing more than the bruise Troy got on his face that one time Chad accidentally pegged him with a baseball. They stare.

“Are we ready, gentlemen?” she snaps, and they both leap to their feet.

Rehearsal begins.

Taylor’s been helping him with the dialogue, the tricky sentence constructions and impossible words. They’ve taken Mercutio’s long speeches and substituted them for dance numbers and love songs. The memorisation is a snap, easy as anything, but getting the meaning behind the sounds rolling out of his mouth is something else. Aside from Sharpay and Ryan, he’s the only one who knows all his dialogue. Troy is scolded for being unprepared, and he stands with his arms at his sides and looks wounded. Ms Darbus is unmoved.

She calls them a bunch of unprofessional semi-literate amateurs, tells them they’re disgracing the good name of the theatre, and bursts into tears.

After she leaves, Ryan announces into the stunned silence, “Don’t worry. She’s like this every time. Shall we start with the ballroom scene?” and they go from there.

~

Troy and Gabriella break up a few days later. It’s very quiet, with Gabriella being all dignified and regretful and Troy pulling puppy-dog eyes and looking incredibly confused by the whole thing.

“I just don’t know, man,” he says, looking bewildered. He catches the basketball Chad passes and dribbles it half-heartedly. 

“She didn’t say why?” asks Chad.

“She did,” says Troy. “I’m sure she did. But I was mostly stuck on the part where she was dumping me.” He passes the ball back to Chad, and turns away. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Maybe nothing,” says Chad. “Maybe she just thought it better that you broke it off now and stayed friends, rather than trying to do the whole long-distance thing at college.”

“Maybe,” says Troy glumly, and sits down on the bleachers. “Girls are weird.” 

“No argument,” says Chad, abandoning the basketball. “Another species.”

“So how’s it going with you and Taylor, anyway?” Chad looks at him, and Troy looks apologetic. “I mean, you said you guys broke up, but you still hang out all the time. It doesn’t seem like much has changed.”

Chad shrugs. It’s true, very little has changed between him and Taylor – she still tutors him and bullies him into doing his homework, he still teases her and walks her to class. The fact that nothing has really changed post-breakup is probably an indication of how serious they weren’t.

“Taylor’s a great girl,” he says. “She is.”

“But?” asks Troy, turning his water bottle over and over in his hands.

“But,” says Chad, takes a deep breath, and says it. “But I’m starting to think. Maybe I’m not. Um. Actually all that interested in girls.”

Troy goes still beside him. “Oh,” he says, and Chad can’t really read anything in his voice and is too scared to look. 

He looks down instead, the red fabric of his shorts, the weird bones in his knees. His fingers curl into fists and he can feel his heart pounding away, the heat rising to his face, and Troy is just sitting there, not saying anything.

The silence stretches on and on, until all Chad can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and his own unsteady breathing.

“Okay,” says Troy at last. “Okay. That was… unexpected.”

Chad makes a noise that might have been a laugh and might have been a sob but ends up sounding more like a hiccup than anything. “Oh, God,” he says. “That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.”

Troy looks apprehensive. “Are you freaking out? Don’t freak out, man, it’s okay. It’s cool.”

“I’m freaking out,” Chad confirms shakily, and puts his head between his knees. Troy’s hand lands on his back, then leaps away for a second, then returns. Freaking out, Chad thinks dizzily, and concentrates on breathing.

Once the desire to throw up has receded, he sits up and twists his shaking fingers into the hem of his t-shirt. “Sorry,” he says. 

Troy still looks vaguely alarmed, but manages a smile. “I guess one of us had to spazz over this, huh?”

“Please feel free,” Chad tells him. “There’s no statute of limitations on freakouts.”

Troy shakes his head, and this time the smile is more natural. “It’s all good. You just caught me by surprise, you know?”

Something eases in Chad’s chest at this. He nods, and nods again, and then stops before he starts to look like one of those bobble-headed dolls. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, good.” He uncurls his fingers from their nervous fists. “So, we’re cool?”

“I reserve the right to freak later on,” says Troy. “But I’m being very calm and accepting because I really don’t want you to pass out.” He smiles suddenly, and claps a deliberately brotherly hand on Chad’s shoulder. “Of course we’re cool.” A frown creases his forehead briefly. “I mean, it’s not – I mean – me?”

Chad blinks. “Ew,” he says succinctly, because really.

~

At their next tutoring session, Taylor shows up to Chad’s place armed with an armful of printed sheets and a headful of interesting facts gleaned from some serious Googling. “It’s pretty common for teenagers to be confused,” she tells him, scattering articles all over his Biology homework. “It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re, um, you know.”

“Gay?” says Chad, just to watch her twitch. “It’s okay. I talked to Troy some, and I think I’m less confused now.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Troy?”

Something about the emphasis she puts on Troy’s name makes him frown. “Not like that, Tay. Jeez. He’s my best friend, and I was confused, so I talked to him. It’s not like that.”

“Oh,” she says. “So when you say you’re less confused?”

He shrugs. “I’m not saying I’m not confused. And it’s not like I want to shout about it from the rooftops.”

“But,” she says, and he nods.

“But,” he says. “You’re really nice, and I really like you, but I’m just. Not. The girl thing. I’m sorry.”

She smiles and pats his hand. “It’s okay, sweetie. I actually did some research on that, too. Have you ever heard of this thing called the Kinsey Scale?”

~

Ryan is stretching when Chad shows up for dance rehearsals, spread out on the floor with his forehead pressed to his knee and his hands wrapped around his heel. “You’re late,” he says, muffled.

“Sorry,” says Chad, kicking off his shoes and dropping to the floor next to Ryan. ‘Troy and I had a thing. There was drama.” 

Ryan uncurls, the line of his back slowly straightening. He frowns, looking weirdly undressed without his hat. “Oh. Well, try to keep an eye on the time.”

“I know, I know. Sorry.” Chad knows how hard Ryan’s been working on the dances for the show, how much he’s been stressing over it. “On the plus side, I’m all warmed up, so we can get started?” He tries some hopeful puppy-dog eyes, and he’s not as good at it as Troy, but the corner of Ryan’s mouth twitches.

“Brat,” says Ryan affectionately, and ruffles his hair.

They start work on one of the earlier pieces for the show, where Romeo waxes poetic about his love for Rosalind, (“I thought he was after Juliet?” “God, Chad, will you pay attention?”) while Mercutio dances around and makes fun of him.

The soundtrack is something light and fast-paced, energetic, and Chad picks up the steps relatively quickly, while Ryan bounces around calling directions and laughing when Chad gets turned around and forgets what’s going on.

“Come on,” he laughs, as the music winds to a halt. “You’ve gotta shake your hips more, man. Don’t be shy.” He slaps a hand at Chad’s hip, connecting with a sharp crack, and Chad laughs and grabs at Ryan, swinging him around.

The stumble, hanging onto each other, until Ryan’s back hits the wall and Chad falls against him, laughing into his shoulder. Ryan grabs his arms and squeezes gently.

As he gets his breath back, Chad becomes intensely aware that he’s got Ryan pinned up against the wall, chests pressed close together. He slides his hands carefully down to rest lightly at Ryan’s waist, suddenly short of breath all over again.

Ryan goes still under him, and his fingers dig into Chad’s biceps hard. He turns his head and Chad feels warm breath spilling over his cheek, the slight tremble running through him.

“Chad,” says Ryan in a very calm voice that barely shakes at all. “Chad, if you’re just messing with me, I need you to stop right now, okay?”

Chad thinks about playing baseball, and dancing, and the bright, wide smile Ryan wears all the time nowadays, because he can’t hide how happy he is.

“And if I’m not messing with you?” he says softly. He turns his own head until his nose bumps against Ryan’s and he can see Ryan’s eyes, wide and startled.

Ryan makes a strangled noise. “Yeah, right.” He twists unhappily in Chad’s grip, not trying to get away, just uncomfortable. It presses them closer together, and Chad sucks in a breath.

“Ryan,” he says urgently, and takes his hands away from Ryan’s waist. Ryan’s face is flushed and feels hot under his palms and Ryan goes still, mouth open and round in astonishment. “Ryan,” Chad says again, and kisses him.

There’s a terrifying, horrible moment when Ryan just stands there, tense as piano wire, and their mouths are pressed together awkwardly and Chad has just enough time to panic.

Then Ryan kind of sighs, and tips his head slightly, and Chad thinks oh. Ryan relaxes against him by degrees, his slim body going soft and pliant, and Chad opens his mouth against Ryan’s and kisses him until he’s dizzy.

And it’s different from kissing Taylor, from kissing a girl. Ryan’s chest is hard and bony against his own, his hands are strong, and he’s close to Chad’s own height. But his mouth is soft and warm, and he puts an arm around Chad’s waist and hangs on tight, and it’s good like Chad hadn’t believed was possible.

When he breaks the kiss he can’t even look Ryan in the eye, turning to press his face against Ryan’s sweaty neck instead. Ryan’s shaking hands run up and down his back, slow and soothing, and Ryan makes this soft murmuring noise.

“Oh,” he says quietly, at length. “Are you okay?”

Chad nods. “Yeah. Just gimme a minute.” Ryan’s hand cups the back of his neck, and he feels Ryan turn his head and kiss Chad’s temple, and somehow that makes it okay, makes it better, and he can feel the freakout receding. It’s not entirely gone, just delayed, but right now, he’s okay.

“Sorry,” he says. “Okay. God.”

“Okay?” says Ryan, and Chad lifts his head and looks at him, except Ryan’s eyes flutter almost closed and he stares at Chad’s mouth.

Chad swallows. His arms are still caught around Ryan’s back and Ryan’s fingers are tickling lightly against the nape of his neck, and they’re pressed close together, chest down to knees, and can feel the jerking of Ryan’s unsteady breathing in his own chest.

Their mouths come together again, and it’s still shocking and strange. He notices other things this time – Ryan’s mouth tastes like strawberry chapstick and spit, Ryan’s cheeks are smooth and free of stubble, Ryan’s hands reach up to twine in his hair, cradling his head carefully. 

It’s Ryan who breaks the kiss this time, brushing his lips gently across the corner of Chad’s mouth, his cheek.

“Yeah,” says Chad, surprised by the roughness of his own voice. “Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

He wanders through the rest of the day in a daze; slightly terrified that somebody will look at him and know. Like he’s wearing a huge flashing neon sign that says I Made Out With Ryan Evans, Ask Me All About It. Troy looks concerned when Chad fumbles, and fumbles, and fumbles again at the pick-up game they pull together after the final bell, until he finally admits defeat. “I’m just having an off day,” he says sheepishly, at Zeke’s teasing.

Troy drives him home, because he still hasn’t saved up enough for a car. The ride is quiet, but when Troy pulls up and parks in front of Chad’s building, he turns in the driver’s seat with a serious expression. “You sure you’re okay, man?”

Chad shrugs, and tries to keep his voice light, ignoring the sudden spike of adrenaline. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. Taylor’s been on my back about studying for exams.”

Troy nods, looking concerned. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Chad has to smile. He thinks maybe Troy has been getting info from the same sources as Taylor on ‘How to be supportive and accepting.’ It’s cute. “I know. But everything’s cool, I swear.” He touches Troy’s shoulder, and tries not to wince at the way Troy stiffens, just slightly. He’s trying, that’s what matters. 

The twins are watching cartoons in the living room when he gets inside, and his mother is in the small study, staring at the computer screen in the vacant way that means she’s stopped seeing the individual words, but can’t quite drag her eyes away from the pixels. Chad tows her into the kitchen and makes her a cup of coffee, and gets some meat out of the refrigerator for dinner while he waits for her to re-animate.

“How was your day?” she says into her mug.

“It was okay. Some stuff happened I think I might need to talk to you about later.”

Her head comes up, and she looks alarmed. “Am I expecting a call from the principal again?”

“No. That was one time, Momma.”

“It was half the science building, sweetie.”

“It was mostly Troy, anyway.”

She takes another sip. “Okay, so you’re not in trouble. What’s going on?”

He glances out the door, to where Nicole is twirling excitedly while Jessica bounces on the couch. “Later. I don’t want the twins – they wouldn’t. I just wanna have a talk with you, okay?”

She comes up behind him and rests her chin on his shoulder. “Of course. After dinner, when the girls are in bed.”

Of course, this would be the night the twins decide to be difficult. Jessica hides in the laundry hamper ten minutes before bedtime, and Nicole refuses to go to bed if Jessica doesn’t have to, and it takes the better part of an hour of hair-tearing frustration and not a little fear before they find her, because of course she falls asleep and doesn’t hear them calling her.

And after that little excitement, it seems to take forever to get them settled enough to actually drop off in their own room, and Chad resorts to sitting on the floor between their beds and singing quietly to them the lullabies he used to settle them when they were babies and his parents were at their wits’ end.

When he gets back out to the living room, his Mom is curled up on the couch. Two streaming mugs sit on the table, marshmallows bobbing aimlessly around the milky surfaces. He feels that spike of anticipation again, the nervous tightening in his chest.

She looks at him fondly when he sits down beside her. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

He bites his lip, reaches out for his hot chocolate, changes his mind and twists his fingers together in his lap. “Taylor and I broke up.”

Concern flashes over her face. “Oh, honey. Did you guys fight?”

“No. It was kind of sudden, but we didn’t fight or anything.” He stares at his hands. “I broke up with her.”

“Why?” she asks gently.

He twists around suddenly, lying down the length of the couch to put his head in her lap. One of her hands settles in his hair. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong.”

“I think I’m gay, Momma,” he whispers, getting it out before he can talk himself out of it. She goes still. “An’ I’m scared everyone’s going to hate me. I kissed a boy today.” He pauses, pressing his face against her leg. She doesn’t say anything. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m,” she says in a faltering voice. “I’m not mad.” Her hands move again, stroking through his hair, sorting out the tangles. He has long since been old enough to take care of his own hair, but he used to spend hours sitting in her lap when he was small, letting her comb out the unruly curls. The movements are familiar, comforting.

At last, she sighs. “Oh, Chad. Baby, this is going to makes things so hard for you.”

He swallows miserably. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says quietly. Her hand comes to rest on his forehead, like she’s checking his temperature. “It’s okay. It’s going to be fine.”

~

The Evans’ house is strangely un-showy, considering. A low, rambling one-story affair in one of the better neighbourhoods, modestly appointed. It looks almost normal, set back behind some trees, until you realise that it extends back, and back, and out, huge bedrooms and dining rooms and hallways and bathrooms spiralling out until what looks, from the front, like a fairly average, if rather large suburban home is actually a sprawling mansion.

Chad hits the buzzer by the gate and waits, leaning against the gatepost and staring down at his scuffed sneakers. Ryan had invited him over to work on the routines for the musical – and to hang out, although this had been dropped in at the end of the invitation, carelessly – and Chad had turned down an informal basketball game to be here. But that had been on Thursday, before.

Before he had kissed Ryan. Before Ryan had kissed him back, before they’d kissed each other up against the wall of their dingy little practice room under the stage during free period. Before Chad had had a tiny freakout and rushed off, confused and turned on and turned around, leaving Ryan pressed against the wall with his mouth swollen and his cheeks flushed.

Chad’s really not sure if he’s still invited today.

The speaker crackles. “Hey, Chad.” Ryan’s voice is tinny, but he sounds surprised and pleased.

“How did you know it was me?” Chad stands up straighter, peering around suspiciously.

There’s a stifled chuckle. “Camera, dude.”

“Right,” says Chad, feeling stupid. There’s a clunking noise and the gate begins to slide back.

“Come on up,” says Ryan, and the speaker goes quiet.

Chad crunches his way up the gravel drive, hands shoved in pockets. The front door opens before he even hits the steps, and there’s a slim blond boy in jeans and a white t-shirt leaning against the doorframe. Chad squints as he approaches, and the figure resolves itself into Ryan, barefoot, hatless and more casual the Chad’s ever seen. “Hey,” he says weakly.

Ryan smiles. “Hey. Wasn’t sure if you were still coming.”

Chad shrugs and ducks his head. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s okay,” says Ryan easily. “Come on in.”

Chad obediently follows Ryan inside, down a hallway, through a dizzying array of rooms ranging from the breathlessly formal to obviously lived-in, until they come into a pleasant, light room with several couches, a large television, and what appears to be a karaoke machine in the corner, beneath a disco ball which is fortunately inert.

“This is mine and Sharpay’s room,” Ryan explains, padding across the room. “Actually, it’s kind of our wing of the house. My room is through there and Sharpay’s is over there, and through here,” he opens a set of double doors, “is our rehearsal room.”

The rehearsal room is a large, sunny space with bare wood flooring and the wall opposite the door completely mirrored. There’s a piano against one wall, and an advanced looking sound system in a cabinet with speakers mounted in the corners of the room.

“Cool,” says Chad, and Ryan smirks.

They put on some music and dance. The mirrors make it both easier and harder. Chad finds it distracting to see himself moving, to see Ryan moving beside him, the same actions but somehow so much more graceful and fluent. On the other hand, he can now watch himself for the flaws he knows are there, can correct his movements. 

Despite the distraction of the work, he can barely concentrate for thinking I wonder if he’ll kiss me again. Maybe I should kiss him. Maybe he’ll want to talk about it. Maybe he’ll pretend it didn’t happen.

They take a break, and Ryan passes him a bottle of water from the bar fridge he hadn’t noticed behind the door. Chad watches Ryan’s throat work as he swallows, head tipped back, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. A dribble of condensation runs down his chin, and when he pulls the bottle away, his lips are all red and wet. 

Chad can’t look away. Ryan meets his gaze and smirks a little, one corner of his mouth tugging up slyly. “Hey,” he says softly, and touches Chad’s arm, curving his fingers around the muscles in his forearm.

“Hey,” Chad replies stupidly, and bends his head as Ryan steps in so their mouths come together, easy as anything, easy like dancing. Ryan’s arms go around his waist, gentle pressure, and Chad lifts his hands to touch Ryan’s face, his hair. Ryan’s mouth is cool from the chilled water and his skin hot from dancing, and Chad holds his head and licks into his mouth.

Ryan makes a soft noise into Chad’s mouth and pulls him closer by his waist, deepening the kiss, pulling their bodies together firmly. Chad nearly freaks out when he feels Ryan’s body pressed up against him: pressure against his hip tells him Ryan is very, very happy to be there and he can feel his own body responding and it’s terrifying, too much, too fast.

“Ryan” he manages, muffled because Ryan doesn’t seem to want to pull away long enough for Chad to object. “Ryan, I can’t – I never –“ and he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, but Ryan makes a startled noise and pulls away, loosening his grip on Chad’s waist and stepping back.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push.” He touches his fingers to his mouth, his gaze slipping away.

“I didn’t mean stop,” says Chad plaintively, and Ryan looks back at him, a smirk forming.

“So what did you mean?” he asks lightly, moving closer again. He doesn’t touch, but Chad sees his eyes gleam happily in the bright sunlight.

“Um.” He doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so settles on a compromise. “Maybe… ‘slow’?”

Ryan nods, his eyes dropping again to fix on Chad’s mouth. He hooks his fingers in Chad’s t-shirt and pulls him in, smiling slightly. “Okay. Slow. I can do that.”

The discovery of the Wii hooked up to the giant TV in the other room slows it all right down, and Ryan laughs with good grace and coaches Chad through a bizarre Japanese boxing game. They flail around the room, jabbing at the air to the accompaniment of the tinny, high-pitched music, until they’re both breathless and laughing.

They venture out into the kitchen for lunch, Ryan unpacking a dizzying array of condiments from the giant stainless-steel refrigerator onto the granite benchtop while Chad constructs improbable sandwiches and watches the way Ryan’s ass moves when he bends over to get the jar of pickles from the back of the shelf. Ryan pours them both orange juice, and when he kisses Chad it tastes tart and sweet.

Back in the twins’ room, Chad abandons his sandwich to lie on the floor on his belly and flip through the DVDs in the cabinet under the TV. Behind sixty years worth of musicals and romantic comedies, he discovers a copy of The Matrix, still in its shrink-wrapped packaging and covered in dust.

Ryan pokes the DVD player until it accepts the unfamiliar science fiction, and the boys settle onto the couch, shoulder to shoulder. Chad lasts approximately fifteen minutes – he’s seen the film about twenty times already – before turning to look at Ryan and finding him looking back, expression half-amused, half-thoughtful.

“I really don’t get this movie,” says Ryan quietly. 

Onscreen, Keanu Reeves is being violated by a mechanical bug. Chad smiles. “That’s okay.” He turns his whole body and presses Ryan down, down into the soft cushions of the sofa, until he’s lying over him and beside him, arms braced on either side of Ryan’s blond head.

Ryan smiles happily up at him. “Is this the part where we make out?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows, and Chad thinks that’s the best idea he’s ever heard.

They come up for air an indeterminate amount of time later, when Chad pulls away to breathe and catches a glimpse of the screen from the corner of his eye. “Oh, you have to watch this bit,” he says, unthinking. “It’s the coolest thing ever.”

Ryan looks dazed, but turns his head obediently to watch two beautiful people demolish a dozen security guards and a lobby. “Huh,” he says. “That is cool.”

Chad laughs and presses his mouth against the pale skin of Ryan’s neck, over the reddening bruise above his collarbone. Ryan’s hands skitter up and down his back, under his shirt, palms against his sweaty skin. “It’s like our dance,” he says, curling on hands into Chad’s hair. “It’s – oh.” He makes a soft purring noise and twists restlessly as Chad experimentally scrapes his teeth against the soft skin just beneath his ear. “It's all about aggression, yeah?”

Chad lifts his head. “You really wanna talk about the dance? Now?”

“No,” says Ryan, but he turns his head to watch the TV again. “Well, maybe.” He reaches out to grab at the remote like he’s going to rewind it, but Chad bats his hand away.

Chad presses his face against Ryan’s shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Dude. Am I boring you?”

Ryan, however, seems fascinated by the action onscreen. “Look,” he says. “Look at that. Totally deadly, but incredibly graceful. Do you think we could use something like that?”

Chad huffs. “Ryan,” he says. “Concentrate.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says Ryan, sounding vaguely surprised. “I thought we were done.”

Chad lifts his head and stares at Ryan’s guileless expression, which lasts for a good five seconds before Ryan cracks up laughing. “Oh man, I totally had you going.”

Chad thumps him in the arm. “You’re unbelievable.”

~

Sunday Chad spends babysitting the twins as his mother buries herself in last-minute work for a client. Her interior design business is booming, and it’s a huge relief to not have to worry about whether they’re going to be able to afford rent next month, but it eats into her time a lot. Chad doesn’t mind. He ties hair ribbons and shoelaces and works on his homework in between making sandwiches and refereeing fights over My Little Ponies. 

Troy comes over in the afternoon and they take the twins down to a nearby park, leaving them to play on the jungle gym while he and Troy shoot hoops and talk. It’s good. He hasn’t really had a whole lot of chances to just hang out with Troy since this whole thing with the musical and Ryan started. 

Troy complains about Sharpay’s domineering attitude and distressing tendency to grope him at every opportunity. He talks about Gabriella, about seeing her around and the way they’ve begun to tentatively become friends again. He talks about basketball, and golf, and college, and their friends, and the party he’s planning for his eighteenth next month after the show is over. He talks about the car he’s been working on with his dad.

When he runs out of words, Chad claps him on the back. “Awesome,” he says, and Troy smiles happily, a little flushed.

“So what’s going on with you?” he asks, as they toss the ball back and forth. “Still with the, you know?”

Chad shrugs. “Not liking girls? Yeah. Girls have cooties.” He takes a shot, and the ball rattles the chain-link net. “Still not freaking out about that?”

Troy ducks his head so his hair falls into his eyes. “Nah. It’s cool. Taylor gave me a bunch of stuff, like, pamphlets and things.” He’s silent for a minute. “That was okay, right? I mean, her talking to me about it?”

“Sure.” Chad twists his neck and peers over his shoulder, checking on the twins, who are digging industriously in the sandbox. “She kind of figured it out when I freaked out and dumped her and cried about it.”

“You did not.” Troy pulls a disbelieving face.

“Well, maybe not the crying part.” He grins at Troy, bounces a little. “She’s still the best not-girlfriend ever.”

“You are so weird,” says Troy.

Troy drops Chad and the girls off at home, and they trundle up to find their mother fast asleep at the kitchen table. Chad wakes her up and sends her off for a nap, and settles the twins down in the living room with colouring books and a chest full of dolls.

After dinner, while the girls are in the bath, he helps his mother with the dishes, drying them as she hands them to him all soapy-wet.

“Did you have a good time today, honey?” she asks lightly.

“Sure,” he says. “Learned the difference between a Bratz and a Barbie. Shot some hoops. Hung out with Troy.”

“How’s he doing?” she says, and something in her voice catches his attention.

“Troy? He’s fine. Stressing about college applications, but who isn’t?”

“And how are you two getting along? Now, I mean that. Well, things are different.”

Chad gives her a hard look, and she shrugs and swishes her hands in the water. “Nothing’s different, Mom. Why would things be different?”

She shrugs one shoulder and gives him the look Chad’s come to dread – the ‘I’m being supportive’ look. “Aren’t things awkward since you kissed him?”

Chad nearly drops the slippery plate. “Mother. I did not kiss Troy. Gross.”

She looks startled. “Oh. I’m sorry, I thought – no. Wow.” She dries her hands off with a shaky laugh. “Sorry, honey. I just assumed.”

Chad starts to stack up the plates in the cabinet. “He’s like my brother, Momma. That would be just – weird.”

“Well, if wasn’t Troy, who -? No. No, I won’t pry. It’s fine. So Troy’s doing well?”

“Yeah, Mom. Troy’s doing really well.”

~

“Why,” Chad wonders the following day, “does everybody think I have a big gay crush on Troy?”

Ryan looks puzzled. “Who? Wait, you have a crush on Troy?”

“No,” says Chad, annoyed. “But every time I bring up the topic of maybe being a little bit, you know, not so much with the girl-thing,” he breaks off to make a rude gesture at Ryan, who is laughing so hard he’s falling over, “people assume I have some mad unrequited passion for Troy.”

“You mean you don’t?” Ryan makes his eyes innocently wide. Chad swats at his head.

“Dude,” he complains, and Ryan laughs his big happy laugh.

They’re not in the rehearsal room today, but sitting outside on the green grass in front of the school building in the sun. Ryan keeps tipping his head up and closing his eyes, basking in the warmth.

“Who’s everybody?” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you’d told anybody.”

“I haven’t been specific,” says Chad, wondering if he’s accidentally offended Ryan. “I mean, Taylor kind of figured it out when I broke up with her.”

“Did you cry?” inquires Ryan sweetly, and a little too eagerly.

“Shove it,” Chad replies amicably. “And I told Troy. Because, y’know, he’s my best friend. And he was cool with it. And I told my Mom.”

Ryan lies back on the grass and squints up at him. “That’s a lot of people. Should I be expecting a mob at my door for corrupting you?”

“They’d have to get through your very effective gate first,” Chad points out. “And, no. I didn’t tell them about – this.” He makes a vague gesture which might mean ‘accidental sports injury’ but might mean ‘this thing between us.’ “Just the whole, general, batting-for-the-other-team, thing.”

“Huh,” says Ryan, tipping his hat over his eyes. “I would call it batting for the home team, personally.”

“Have you told anyone?”

Ryan huffs. “Who would I tell? My best friend since preschool has been my sister, and I’m not sure she’s even talking to me right now.” He tucks his hands behind his head. “And besides, everybody knows I’m gay.”

Chad clutches his chest in mock-horror. “You’re gay? Oh, my God! How did I not know this? You’re so– manly,” and he has to stop because Ryan sits up and punches him in the chest.

Ryan settles down eventually, lounging back against Chad’s backpack. “You and your sports-oriented definitions of masculinity,” he says primly, examining his nails. “Just because I care about my appearance.”

“It’s more the pink,” muses Chad. “I mean, you wear a lot of pink.”

“It’s culture jamming,” says Ryan loftily. “I am subverting the dominant cultural paradigm!”

“By being a gay dude who wears a lot of pink?”

Ryan scowls, adorably. “Shut up.”

Chad kind of wants to kiss him, right here on the lawn. Failing that, he wants to lean over and touch him, just put his hands on Ryan, casually, like he has the right. The way Troy used to touch Gabriella, a kind of acknowledgement, given and received. This is what is between us, for the whole world to see.

He doesn’t, but he wants to.

“What’s a paradigm?” he asks instead, and watches Ryan smile.

~

The week leading up to the show has half the school gone crazy. Troy is muttering soliloquies to himself in the halls between classes, looking hunted. Sharpay is shriller and more scathing than usual, shouting at people for lingering too close and changing outfits three times a day. Ryan is far from immune: he looks tense and pale, and is wildly jumpy and skittish.

Chad doesn’t quite get it. He knows his small part, and is more than confident in the dances Ryan has so brilliantly choreographed. Watching the rest of the cast work themselves into a frenzy would be funny if it weren’t almost frightening. It’s not the same tension as you’d get with the team before a big game, where they pound each other on the back and talk each other up. Troy recoils and scuttles away if he sees Sharpay in the halls, Ryan is stressed and short-tempered, snapping at the least thing. Chad feels it rubbing off on his own behaviour, can feel himself getting keyed up and tense about everything. He feels strung out, wired, not himself.

He finds Ryan in their rehearsal room two days before opening night, staring morosely at his hands. They don’t use this room much anymore, preferring to do whole-cast rehearsals, because Ryan says if they haven’t got the details yet it’s much too late. But they sneak down here sometimes anyway.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“I chewed all my nails off,” Ryan says glumly. “What a waste of a sixty-dollar manicure.”

Chad has to pause and take a moment to absorb the existence of such a thing as a sixty-dollar manicure. “They’ll grow back,” he offers.

The corner of Ryan’s mouth lifts. “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not usually this bad before a show.”

“You said this was the first time you’d choreographed the whole thing,” Chad points out. He holds out a hand to help Ryan up. “That’s a big deal. I don’t blame you for being nervous.”

Ryan takes his hand, and Chad tugs just a little too hard, pulling Ryan to his feet and flush up against him. “Hi,” he says brightly, steadying Ryan with a hand at his hip.

Ryan smiles for real. “Hi,” he says softly, leaning in so his forehead touches Chad’s nose. “Want a ride home?”

Chad pouts. “I thought maybe we could go to your place,” Chad suggests, “and. Run lines?” He turns his head so his mouth brushes Ryan’s temple.

“Sharpay’s at home today,” Ryan points out, “having a girly grooming day to prepare for opening night. And Mom has a charity dinner tonight.”

“Um.” Chad thinks about this, while Ryan shifts to get comfortable and turns to press a damp kiss against his jaw. “My place?”

“Your sisters?”

“Ballet. And Mom has some meeting with a client til late.”

“Okay.”

Seeing Ryan in his little, messy bedroom, with his unmade bed and untidy desk and checked curtains, is startling. Ryan tugs off his hat and looks around, running absent fingers through his hair. He crosses to the desk and peers at the photographs stuck to the corkboard – the twins in their ballet leotards, Mom and Dad back when they were dating, the last family photo of all of them before Dad died, with little Chad squished between his parents, each of them holding a baby.

Ryan touches each photo with a little smile as Chad kicks off his sneakers and tosses his backpack into the corner of the room.

“You look like your Dad,” Ryan remarks.

“And nothing like my Mom?” Chad finishes. He knows, he’s heard all the jokes before. Fact is, a child of a mixed-race couple is far more likely to favour the darker colouring, so his lily-white Mom gets some weird looks out with him and the girls.

“I didn’t mean that,” says Ryan. “You don’t look much like her, but you take after her a lot. Just the way you talk and use your hands. But your face – yeah, you look like your Dad.”

“Huh,” says Chad, and hooks his chin on Ryan’s shoulder, sneaking arms around him. “Thought we were gonna run lines.”

Ryan twists around to look at him. “Really?”

Chad grins. “Nah,” he says, and pushes him towards the bed.

When the sound of the front door opening breaks them apart some time later, Ryan’s hands are under his shirt, tracing over his back and belly in soft, aimless circles as they kiss. It’s further than they’ve gone, under clothes, in their clumsy-shy kisses yet. When the noise intrudes, Chad jumps back like he’s been scalded, saved from falling off the bed only by virtue of the fact that Ryan hands are still tangled up in his clothing.

“Chad!” calls one of the girls – probably Nicole, who doesn’t have a mute button – from the other room.

“Be out in a minute!” he yells back and spends that minute frantically untangling himself from a laughing, blushing Ryan.

“Shit, shit, what time is it?” he says, frantically searching the bedclothes for his watch. Ryan shifts slightly, lifts his hips up, and extracts the cheap, rubber-banded sports watch from under him. Chad loses track of what he was thinking for several long seconds.

“Gone five,” says Ryan thoughtfully. “I should get home.”

“Uh-huh,” says Chad, wondering if it’s possible to actually expire from being too turned on. Ryan’s shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of pale, bare flesh between his shirt and his belt. His cheeks are flushed pink and his mouth looks slightly bruised and he’s kind of sprawling on Chad’s bed with his legs all splayed out.

“Chad!” whines Nicole from just outside the door. “I’m hungry. Is dinner ready yet?”

Chad sighs. “Coming, Nicky. Have you changed out of your ballet clothes yet?”

Ryan smirks and sits up, rearranging himself until he looks less debauched. Chad tugs fruitlessly at his hair, straightens his t-shirt, and opens the door. “Okay, pest. Where’s your sister?”

Nicole shrugs her shoulders. “Hi, Ryan! Are you coming to our recital next weekend?”

Ryan blinks. “Uh, maybe?”

Nicole claps her hands and twirls happily. “Awesome.”

Chad takes her shoulder and gives her a push. “Go change into your play clothes before you mess up your leotard.”

She dances off, hopping excitedly, just as Jessica comes out of the girls’ bedroom in pyjama bottoms and one of Chad’s shirts which reads “Witty slogan goes here”, as if she’s about to go to bed.

Chad sighs, and hears Ryan collapse into laughter again behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

The space behind the curtains is weirdly quiet, like the thick red drapes have stolen all the sound from the stage. On the other side, the rumble of the crowd as they shuffle to their seats is audible, but back in the darkness of the stage before curtain up there is only hush.

Chad nudges Troy’s shoulder. The stage makeup washes him out, makes him pale as a ghost, and his eyes are huge and shining in the dim light. “You okay?” Chad mouths, and Troy nods and leans over so he can talk into Chad’s ear almost silently.

“Quietest I’ve heard Sharpay in months,” he hisses, and Chad has to stifle a laugh. Sharpay is pacing back and forth just behind the curtains, windmilling her arms and mouthing her lines to herself, making contorted faces like she’s in pain. It’s kind of hypnotic.

Ryan touches his elbow. “Curtain-up in five minutes,” he says softly. “You ready?”

And just like that, Chad is suddenly terrified. Nausea sweeps through him, and he sucks in a breath of air, dizzy.

“Hey,” says Ryan, and takes his arm. “Hey, breathe. It’s okay.”

“Don’t think I can do this,” says Chad, and sees Troy slap a hand over his eyes and shake his head.

“Yes, you can,” says Ryan in a low, calm tone.

“I’ve forgotten all the steps,” Chad says feebly.

“No, you haven’t,” says Ryan evenly. “Chill. You know this, okay? You’re good, you’re gonna be fine.” He takes Chad by the arms and squeezes, gives him a gentle shake.

Chad looks at him, and sees the gleam of Ryan’s teeth as he smiles. “You think?”

Ryan tousles his hair fondly. “This is gonna be awesome,” he says happily. “See you after.” And he bounces off.

Chad takes a deep breath and turns to Troy, who is looking between Chad and Ryan, fast disappearing into the gloom, with an expression that suggests he is thinking hard. Before he can say anything, the quality of the light shifts, the distant audience begins to settle, and Ms Darbus is suddenly swooping around like a giant bat, flapping at people, and banishing everyone from the stage into the wings.

The curtain goes up.

~

The energy backstage at the end of the show is startlingly similar to after a successful basketball game. The red curtains sweep closed on the sad tableau of the grieving families and the sound of thunderous applause, and then somebody shrieks, “We did it!” and everybody is laughing and squealing and rushing to hug each other, jumping up and down.

Chad somehow ends up with an armful of Sharpay, who he immediately releases, and then rushes over with the rest of the dancers to jump on Ryan. In the ensuing tackle-hug, he’s pretty sure he’s not the only one who cops a feel, given the startled look on Ryan’s face and the smug expression on Lindsay Martin. Girl’s teeny, but she’s determined.

Then the curtains sweep back open and it’s time for them to take their bows. Troy takes his bow with Sharpay, and keeps trying to step back and let somebody else have the limelight, but she hangs on for dear life, smiling toothily. Finally Troy scoops her up in his arms and carries her back behind the ranks of the rest of performers, to cheers and wolf whistles.

Chad slings his arm around Ryan’s neck when they take their bow, waving to the cheering crowd with his free hand and feeling Ryan’s shoulders moving against him. They step back to make room for Alan, who played Juliet’s unfortunate suitor Paris. His bumbling interpretation of the role gets him a solid two minutes of applause, and then the dancers swarm to the front to take their accolades with fluttering, graceful bows. Chad shoves Ryan up to take his kudos with them because if anybody deserves it, Ryan does, and then Sharpay drags Troy up for another round just as the curtain sweeps closed. Even Sharpay’s shrieks of rage at being entangled with the drapery can’t dampen their high spirits.

~

The cast party is held, unsurprisingly, at the Evans’ house. Every student who had anything to do with the musical is invited, and most of them show up – actors, dancers, singers, plus all the backstage assistants, sound guys, lighting guys, props people and costume designers. Sharpay turns on the karaoke machine, and Ryan mysteriously breaks it ten minutes later, and Chad doesn’t tell anyone about the plug he might have seen Ryan tossing out the window.

Troy sticks close to him, still wary of Sharpay. “She’s like a shark,” he says solemnly. “She can smell weakness.”

“I thought it was blood sharks could smell,” says Kelsi, and Troy squints at her.

“It’s a metaphor,” he points out, and Kelsi nods wisely. Like Troy, she’s hiding from Sharpay, not wanting to be put to work playing piano this evening. They both appear to be labouring under the delusion that standing very close to Chad is somehow going to protect them.

Ryan bounces up to them, grinning like a maniac. His eyes are shining, his cheeks are flushed and there’s a shine of sweat across his face. His stylish shirt is unbuttoned enough that Chad can see the shadows of his collarbones, and it takes him several second to realise that Ryan is actually talking.

“-so grateful to you guys, all of you, really. This show wouldn’t have been the same without you.” He shakes Troy’s hand enthusiastically and then hugs Kelsi, who squeaks.

Chad clears his throat and spreads his arms expectantly. Ryan makes a big show of hugging him, carefully keeping their bodies separate, and pulls away immediately, batting fastidiously at Chad’s chest. Kelsi giggles, but Troy has that thoughtful look on his face that Chad is starting to become wary of.

He’s almost relieved when Sharpay storms past in a snit, snagging Ryan by the sleeve and towing him along in her wake. Ryan stumbles after her, shooting Chad a look that clearly says ‘help me’.

She drags him into a corner of the room and proceeds to harangue him very, very quietly. Ryan folds his arms, examines his nails, and generally looks exceedingly bored.

Chad catches his eyes deliberately, and winks. Troy and Kelsi have started a deep and meaningful discussion on – hair products? Something like that – so he edges away, a few inches at a time. Ryan's gaze flicks between Sharpay and Chad, eyes widening slowly when Chad reaches Ryan’s bedroom door and lounges against it, all casual until he leans on the handle, oops, and the door opens and he grins cheekily and slips inside.

He counts under his breath as he fumbles for light switch, and barely gets to ten before the door opens, letting the music and heat of the party in before Ryan ducks through and shuts the door behind him.

Chad doesn’t even have time for a teasing comment before Ryan grabs him, muttering “Jesus, Chad, what the hell. In front of everybody, you crazy bastard.”

Their mouths crash together as Ryan hustles him back towards the bed, a dim, lumpy shape in the unlit room. Chad has a brief moment of nervousness when Ryan coaxes him out of his shirt, but then Ryan pushes him back onto the bed and starts licking his nipples and any protest Chad might have is lost.

He’s dimly aware that Ryan is doing other things – shrugging out of his soft white button-down shirt, leaning over to flick on the bedside lamp, gasping for air as he urges Chad further up the bed to lie against the pillows, but Chad can’t concentrate on anything, because in between it all, Ryan keeps dipping down to kiss him breathlessly, lick and suck at his chest, run his hands over Chad’s skin, touching him everywhere. It’s all Chad can do to lie there and feel, just breathe and let Ryan touch him, let the sensation rush over him.

When he feels Ryan twist and settle between his legs, he makes a helpless noise and bucks up, unable to stop himself. He’s still got his jeans on, but Ryan’s weight is resting comfortably right against his dick, exactly the right kind of pressure for Chad to grind up against, all incredible friction. And then of course Ryan smirks at him – a wobbly smirk, but a smirk nevertheless - and ducks his head to attach himself to Chad’s nipple, biting softly and flicking his tongue against it over and over.

It’s too much, and Chad opens his mouth wide, gasps for air. “Ryan, Ryan. God, stop. I’m gonna – I - ”

“What?” says Ryan, and his voice is rough, wrecked. “You’re gonna what?”

He punctuates the question with a roll of his hips, and Chad whines, high in his throat. “Oh. Oh. I’m gonna really embarrass myself.”

Ryan makes this noise, this amazing broken noise, and squirms, hard, grabbing at Chad’s hair to kiss him, over and over. “God, don’t tell me to stop,” he says fiercely, between kisses. “Don’t say stop, Chad, I wanna see you, please, I want, don’t make me stop.”

“Oh, fuck,” says Chad in a strangled voice and clutches blindly at the smooth skin of Ryan’s back, struggling for air. Ryan doesn’t let up, layering messy kisses on Chad’s face and neck, grinding his hips down into Chad’s with jerky, unpractised movements, and Chad comes just like that, his vision whiting out and a buzzing in his ears, arching up and squeezing his eyes closed as it rushes over him, spreading out along his limbs and leaving him shaking.

Ryan doesn’t stop moving, thrusting down and groaning, and then he goes still and trembling with a choked-off noise, panting like he’s just run a race. He collapses in a boneless heap on Chad’s chest, pressing his face into Chad’s neck and making a soft, almost pained noise. Chad touches the back of his neck, runs his fingers down the long line of his spine, slick with sweat, and tries to remember how to breathe.

~

A knock at the door rouses them an indeterminate amount of time later. Chad is jerked out of a light doze, and Ryan sits up straight beside him with a snort. “Wha?” he says, making a face.

“Um,” says Kelsi from the other side of the door. “Um, Troy’s looking for Chad. I’m not saying you know where he is, but if you do happen to see him, if you could let him know that Troy is ready to leave. If you see him.”

Ryan and Chad exchange a look, and Chad shrugs, too mellow to get really worked up about the insinuation. “Okay, Kels,” Ryan calls. “If I see him, I’ll be sure to. Uh. Tell him.”

“Thanks,” says Kelsi. “Most everyone’s gone home now,” she adds. “And everybody that’s left is in the kitchen, except Sharpay is showing Troy the view from the balcony.” She pauses. “He really wants to leave soon.”

Chad turns to press his face into the pillow to muffle his laughter. Kelsi would make the worst secret agent ever, but she’s so cute he can’t really hold it against her.

“I should go,” he says quietly once Kelsi’s footsteps on the hardwood floor have faded. Ryan makes a cute little disappointed face, and Chad ruffles his hair fondly, pushing it back off his face. “I know, dude.”

“You’ll come by this weekend?” asks Ryan, a touch anxiously. “Oh, wait – the twins’ recital is Saturday, isn’t it? Maybe we could do something after that.”

“And by ‘do something’ you of course mean…?” Chad sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and winces as the movement forces him to become aware of the sticky, sorry state of his pants.

“Make out,” says Ryan brightly. “More of the same.”

“Okay,” says Chad, grimacing. “Next time we do it without pants, though.”

Ryan’s face flushes at that, his eyelids drooping, and he bites his lip, gaze sliding over Chad’s bare chest. “Yeah?” He shifts his weight and leans forward, and Chad can see the exact moment the uncomfortable wetness in his designer slacks registers. “Okay, gross. Definitely pantsless next time.”

Chad can’t help laughing at Ryan fastidious distaste, but they don’t hang around for niceties: Ryan blushingly lends him some clean shorts {“Dude, you iron your underwear?” “Don’t you?”) and they sneak shamefacedly down to the kitchen to find Kelsi and Dave the Sound Guy trading horror stories about Sharpay. Ryan rolls his eyes and exits, returning two minutes later with Troy in tow and the sound of Sharpay’s displeasure echoing after them.

Chad takes one look at Troy’s frankly traumatised expression and takes him in hand. “Come on, buddy. You want to get out of here?”

“You left me alone with her,” says Troy in a faintly accusing tone, letting himself be led. “You let her get me.” He seems dazed and slightly distressed.

“In a roomful of people, I left you,” says Chad, exasperated. “With Kelsi right there.”

Troy stops dead, digging in his heels and looking around wildly. “Kelsi. Shit. I was supposed to give her ride home.”

“I’m here,” says Kelsi, scampering down the corridor towards them. “Just saying goodnight.” She smiles up at Chad, who realises that she is attempting to look knowing, and what seemed like a not a big deal at all when he was sweaty and contented and post-coital suddenly seems rather terrifying in this new land of dry pants and a clear head.

“Right,” he says with a deep breath. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Troy sags against him, possibly in shock, and Kelsi giggles happily.

~

He plays basketball with the guys on Saturday morning before he has to run off for the twin’s ballet recital. He hadn’t realised he’d missed this – hadn’t realised that there was anything to miss, that he’d been spending more and more time with Ryan, dancing, kissing, just hanging out. It’s good, it’s great, he likes spending time with Ryan – likes it a lot, truth be told, but he has actually missed spending time with Troy and the team. They’re so uncomplicated in their eagerness and team spirit, and while spending time with Ryan leaves him with the constant feeling of spinning dizzily and never quite catching his breath, hanging out with the team is comfortable, familiar, safe.

They play out on the court at the back of the Boltons’ in the cooling fall air. Sometime while Chad was hiding himself under the stage with Ryan, the seasons turned, and leaves have gone all colours, and the air has become crisp and chilly in the mornings. Chad revels in it, running from one end of the court to the other, bumping shoulders and slapping backs and high-fiving, letting himself get caught up in the energy of the game, the competitiveness. It’s not like dancing with Ryan, it’s not like anything else. It’s just Chad and his friends doing what they do best, what they love, and by the end of it he’s flushed and panting and can’t quite wipe the grin off his face.

“It’s good to have you back, man,” says Zeke warmly when they’re done. He thumps Chad on the back, grinning. “Was afraid we were gonna lose you to the drama geeks.” There’s no malice in his tone, just friendly teasing, but Chad hides a flinch.

“Lay off,” says Troy lightly. “Nobody makes fun of your hobby.”

“Are you kidding?” says Zeke, looking insulted. “You guys mock me all the time!”

“That’s ‘cause you keep trying to prove us wrong about how worthwhile baking is,” Jason remarks smugly, and stuffs a cookie in his mouth to make his point. “Keep it up,” he says, muffled, and everyone leans back from the spray of crumbs.

“Everyone up for pizza for lunch?” inquires Troy after a few more minutes of kidding around. There’s a chorus of affirmative answers, but Chad shakes his head.

“I gotta get back. The twins have a thing.”

“Aw, man,” complain Jason. “You’re ditching us for the Evans?”

Everyone goes kind of quiet, and Zeke smacks Jason in the head. Chad stares. “Dude. The twins? Nicole and Jessica? My baby sisters? They have a ballet recital this afternoon.”

Jason looks ashamed. “Yeah. Right.” He looks around. “Uh, sorry.”

Chad stares at the ground, feeling his face burn. “It’s fine. Sorry. I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Troy offers, and they head over to the side gate.

“Like Chad would ditch us for them,” he hears Zeke saying to Jason, not quietly enough.

“Like he hasn’t been,” replies Jason, and Chad stumbles over the uneven paving.

Troy catches his arm. “Ignore them,” he says in a low voice. “They don’t get it.”

Chad leans tiredly against the brick wall of the house. “Ryan’s coming to the recital. The girls asked him to.”

Troy looks at him with those big blue eyes and the permanently wounded expression he seems to wear these days. “You and he are – uh.”

Chad closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah. I guess.” It’s not like Troy hasn’t already figured it out, anyway. “It’s not a thing. We haven’t talked about it. But.”

Troy wags his hands around, eyes widening. “Dude, I don’t want details.”

Chad laughs a little. “Sorry. I don’t even know what it is.”

Troy sighs and leans against the wall beside him. “You like him?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even have to think about that one. “But we’re not – it’s not like we’re boyfriends. We’re not dating.” He pauses, scuffs the toe of his shoe against the ground. “I don’t think.”

“Is it – different?” Troy asks hesitantly. “From girls, I mean?”

“I thought you didn’t want details?” says Chad, almost ready to tease.

Troy makes a protesting noise. “Not that. I mean. Like. You’re not dating? But you’re doing – other things? I don’t think girls do that.” He sounds confused and perhaps a little wistful.

Chad shrugs, uneasy. “I haven’t really thought about it. We’re friends.”

“You and I are friends,” Troy points out, reasonably.

They think about that for a while, and Chad snickers. “Dude.”

“I know, right?” says Troy, and then they’re both laughing, nearly doubled over, howling with mirth that is as much nervous discomfort as it is humour.

“I’m sorry, man,” says Chad, once they’ve stopped laughing. “I know this is weird for you.”

“And it’s not for you?” says Troy. “I know you, man. You’re confused as hell.”

Chad shrugs. “I guess.” He stares at the ground. “I don’t think there’s really a how-to guide on this one, you know? I don’t quite know how to do this.”

Troy’s quiet for a while, and Chad sighs and pushes himself away from the wall, heading for the front gate. “I better get going.”

“Say hi to Ryan for me,” says Troy, not moving. “Oh, Chad?”

Chad turns back. Troy is leaning against the wall, frowning slightly. “Yeah?”

“You should talk to him. Ryan, I mean. If it’s bothering you.” He shrugs. “You guys should probably work it out together, you know?”

Chad nods. “Yeah, maybe. See you later?”

Troy just waves.

~

The recital is a resounding success. Neither of the twins mess up or forget their steps. Chad’s mom brings the video camera and films the whole thing, cooing at all the appropriate moments. Ryan wears a suit and brings two big bunches of roses.

Chad, for his part, spends most of the afternoon repressing the insanely strong urge to drag Ryan under the dusty stage and get that pristine suit all dirty and rumpled. From Ryan’s smirk, he knows this all too well.

The girls jump all over the place after the show is done, hyped up on adrenaline and giggling like loons. They both insist on walking back to the car hand-in-hand with Ryan, leaving Chad to carry the flowers, and then Ryan has to sit in the backseat so the twins can fawn on him.

“Ryan,” says Nicole very seriously when they get to the restaurant for dinner.   
”I have to ask you something.”

“What is it, pumpkin?” Ryan is sitting between the twins again, but Chad can’t be too upset about that, because Ryan looks so sweetly uncomfortable at the attention. He kicks Ryan fondly under the table.

“When I get bigger, will you marry me?”

Chad chokes on his drink. Beside him, he can hear his mother give a hysterical little giggle. Jessica looks furious – Chad suspects she’s mad that Nicole got in before her – but Ryan just smiles calmly, like he’s totally used to marriage proposals from little girls. “Sure thing, baby girl. If you still want me when you’re old enough, we’ll talk, okay?”

“Awesome!” Nicole bounces gleefully in her seat, then kneels up on her chair to give Ryan a smacking kiss on the cheek. Ryan rolls his eyes at Chad, but he’s smiling.

The waiter comes to take their orders, and Chad is bemused to see both girls wait until Ryan has ordered his meal before they ask for exactly the same thing. He catches Ryan’s eye and they share a grin.

“Chad, are you all right to babysit tonight?” his mother asks as they traipse back out to the car.

Chad stops in his tracks. He’d forgotten his mother had asked him to watch the girls this evening while she went out for one of her rare nights with the girls. He’d already been planning to go back to Ryan’s and spend some quality time licking him all over.

“Um,” he says. Beside him, Ryan tips his head and smiles charmingly.

“What do you think, girls?” he says. “I can come too. We can watch movies.”

“And braid each other’s hair and talk about boys?” says Chad under his breath.

“My hair’s not long enough to braid,” smirks Ryan, and tugs on one of Chad’s curls fondly.

The twins, naturally, are all for that idea, and Chad is mildly disturbed by his mother’s knowing smirk, so he ends up in the bathroom wrangling a pair of hyperactive eight-year-olds into their pyjamas while Ryan perches on Mrs Danforth’s bed and gives her expert tips on getting her mascara just right.

To be fair, his mother does look fantastic when she finally breezes out the door, and Chad points Ryan to the couch and sits the twins on either side of him with big mugs of hot chocolate and some twinkly, girly movie playing on TV.

Forty-five minutes later, his plan is successful – the twins, over-tired and worn out from a long day, begin to nod off. He enlists Ryan’s help to carry the dozing kids to their beds, tucks them in, kisses them goodnight and firmly closes the door behind them.

“Well,” he says tiredly. “That was less painful than I expected.”

“You’re pretty good at getting them to sleep,” Ryan notes, playfully pressing him up against the door. “All competent and responsible. It’s kind of hot.”

“Pervert,” Chad accuses, and Ryan laughs and licks his neck, and then Chad has to shove him towards his own bedroom on the opposite side of the hallway. They crash into the doorframe, Ryan saved from getting a concussion only by Chad’s hand cupping his skull, and fall laughing and wincing onto the bed.

Chad shoves Ryan’s shirt up to his armpits, impatient, and bends to put his mouth on Ryan’s belly. Ryan makes a strangled noise and the muscles jump under Chad’s lips as he squirms and gasps, “Oh – oh, that tickles, Chad, fucking hell.”

Chad laughs softly and considers blowing a raspberry against the pale skin, but Ryan squirms out from under him, yanking at Chad’s clothes. “Come on, come on. You promised no pants this time.”

Chad feels a thrill of something in his belly – lust, nerves, sheer panic – and swallows hard as Ryan unbuttons his own shirt and shrugs it off. He sits up and pulls his t-shirt over his head, hearing Ryan’s breath catch and struggling not to jump when Ryan returns the favour and kisses the skin over his ribs, light and teasing.

“You sure?” says Chad, running his fingers through Ryan’s fine, blond hair. “Be sure.”

Ryan gives him this adorable “Bitch, are you kidding me?” look, and Chad feels his chest tighten. God, he is so, so gone on this guy. 

They somehow manage to get naked, fumbling and shaking and awkward, and Chad’s face heats when Ryan’s gaze wanders over and down his body, eyes heated and lustful. He drops his own eyes – Ryan is pale all over, lean and mostly hairless but for a soft dusting of hair below his navel leading down to – Ryan is a natural blond, definitely. Chad swallows.

Skin-on-skin is a shock, Ryan pressing him onto the bed with his hands on Chad’s hips and following him down until they’re lying beside each other, legs all tangled together, so much skin. Ryan’s face is flushed pink, his mouth round and open, pupils blown, and Chad looks at him and thinks, I can do this. This is Ryan, and I can do this.

He kisses Ryan slowly, carefully, rubs his hands over the familiar places – Ryan’s shoulders and neck, the soft, ticklish place under his ribs, the dip of his spine. Ryan touches him too, stroking over his face and neck, pulling him closer to kiss him, wet and messy and uncontrolled.

Chad’s hands fumble nervously on nothing but bare skin as they skate down past Ryan’s waist, down past where they would normally be stopped by belts and pants and invisible lines saying no further. Ryan makes a soft, pleased and strokes his knuckles over Chad’s belly, too firm to tickle. “Chad. Can I – can I?”

“Oh God, please,” says Chad and Ryan laughs and then it’s easy, not awkward at all, just Ryan’s hand on him, smoother and softer than he’s used to, but so tight and good. And it’s not strange at all to touch Ryan in return, to curl a hand around and watch his eyes go lazy and his breathing speed up.

It’s a weird angle, and Ryan keeps moving, restless little jerks of his hips that mess up Chad’s rhythm, and oh Ryan’s hand on him is making it hard to concentrate. He throws one leg over Ryan’s thighs, trying to keep him still, but Ryan takes it as an invitation and moves into him, until they’re so close their knuckles are bumping on each pass. Chad can see stars dancing in his peripheral vision; feel the tight, eager curl of his orgasm beginning to build in his belly, embarrassingly soon.

But Ryan stiffens in his arms suddenly and comes, making a sweet, low noise, and tightening his grip almost painfully. Chad blinks out of his fugue long enough to watch, Ryan’s blissed-out face, the way his whole body shudders, hips pushing restlessly up into Chad’s hand.

He’s so taken up with the way Ryan looks, and the quiet, amazing noises he’s making, that his own orgasm takes him completely by surprise, washing over him out of nowhere: Ryan’s hands on him, warm breath on his face, warm body beside him, the demanding rush of blood in his ears, Ryan in his bed, right there.

~

His mother is not an idiot. She smiles sweetly and cooks Ryan breakfast and sends him off home. The minute he’s out the door, she turns around and rips Chad a new one for fooling around when he was supposed to be watching the girls.

Chad is also not an idiot, so he hangs his head, says yes mama, no mama, sorry mama at all the right times. Then, to his horror, she sits down across the table and gives him a look. “Now, Chad, you know I have to ask.”

“Mom,” he pleads. He really doesn’t want to have this talk. “Haven’t we done this? When I was, like, eleven?”

“I just need to know that you’re being safe.” She looks almost as embarrassed as he feels. “Do you need me to, you know, get anything for you?”

“No! I mean, yes!” blurts Chad. “I mean, we’re being safe, Mom. We haven’t – you don’t need to – oh, my god.” He covers his face.

She chuckles. “Okay, honey. You can always talk to me, you know?”

Chad mutters something that probably isn’t, “When hell freezes over,” and eats his pancakes.


	4. Chapter 4

_…Evans, a seasoned performer in East High’s productions, is disappointing as Juliet, playing the heroine shrilly and without empathy. She seems to lack any chemistry with her onstage lover, not even looking at him as she declaims her dramatic speeches. For his part, Bolton seems deeply uncomfortable in the leading role of Romeo, giving the impression during the most intimate scenes that he would rather be anywhere else…_

_…The whole show is saved from drudgery by the brilliant and original musical numbers, penned by senior Kelsi Nielson, who based the lyrics for most of the songs around Shakespeare’s original text. The songs are brought to life by the extremely professional and high-quality dances, choreographed by Ryan Evans and performed with enthusiasm and skill…_

_…One of the standout stars of the performance is newcomer Chad Danforth in the role of Mercutio, to which he brings a playful flair. Playing opposite Evans’ Tybalt, the pair have an intense, believable chemistry. The tension between them whenever they are onstage together is compelling, and their final duel/dance, in which Tybalt kills Mercutio, is the most emotionally resonant moment of the performance, far outshining Sharpay Evans or Troy Bolton’s hamfisted deaths…_

~

Monday morning, Chad gets two steps inside the front doors of the school and is nearly knocked off his feet by Ryan. Troy and Jason step back in alarm, and Chad has to admit they have a point – Ryan is dishevelled and wild-eyed, looking hunted. “Hide,” he says urgently. “You have to hide.”

“Wha – why?” Chad just blinks at him – woah, Ryan is very close.

“Sharpay,” say Ryan grimly, and grabs him by the arm, dragging him along.

“Oh, no,” says Troy. “She saw the review?” He quickens his steps, keeping pace with Chad.

“I think she’s going to kill him,” says Ryan, distressed.

“Why,” Chad wonders, “would she want to kill me? I didn’t do anything!”

“There was a review of the show over the weekend. In the paper,” Ryan explains.

“Slow news week,” says Troy. He strides ahead and pokes his head around a corner to check it’s clear.

“And the reviewer was very truthful about Sharpay’s performance,” Ryan says, peering through a classroom window. “It was kind of harsh, actually. But she was also pretty honest about your part in the show.”

“Sharpay wants me dead because I was mediocre and dragged her down?” Chad guesses, hopelessly lost.

Troy and Ryan both stare at him. “No,” says Troy slowly. “Because you were really good. Because – listen to this bit, Chad – you were better than her. You stole her spotlight.”

“I didn’t mean to,” says Chad helplessly. “I was just trying to-” make Ryan proud, and he cannot say that.

“We know,” says Ryan. “That’s why we’re hiding you.”

But then they round a corner, and – because somebody up there hates Chad – run smack into Sharpay.

“You,” she snarls. Chad eyes her glittery, sharp nails warily and edges away. “You – you peon. You worthless, talentless ridiculous scene-stealing amateur! How dare you!”

Her voice hits a high, shrill note, and everyone winces. Chad tucks his hands in his pockets. “Should you be saying that to me?” he asks. “Or the mirror?”

There are gasps from the gathered audience – don’t these people have lives? – and people start to edge away as Sharpay turns purple.

Chad pastes on a smile and tunes out the rest of Sharpay’s tirade of wounded fury. He can feel Troy sidling behind him and Ryan kind of angling himself so he’s out of his sister’s view, and wonders when he became the anti-Sharpay. Maybe he should tell them he doesn’t actually have any sequin-repelling powers.

“Okay,” he says, when she stops for breath. “Thanks for your input, always appreciate feedback from a fan.”

Sharpay makes a muffled squeaking noise, apparently enraged beyond words. Chad smiles, the warning bell rings, and he turns on his heel, performs a little soft-shoe for the sake of the audience, and walks off.

Safely in the boy’s bathroom, he leans against the wall and laughs himself sick.

“Did you see her face?” says Ryan, clutching his stomach and looking pained. “The way she – her eyes – I thought she was going have a stroke!” He giggles uncertainly.

Troy snickers. “I’ve never seen that shade of red in nature,” he says, shoving his hair out of his face.

“We’re late for homeroom,” Chad points out, and they go.

~

There’s a math test later in the week, so he meets Taylor in the library at lunchtime. He sees Ryan sitting with Gabriella at a table not far away, also bent over textbooks, and vaguely remembers Ryan saying something about Gabriella tutoring him in English. He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Taylor waves a hand in front of his face. “Looking preoccupied, babe,” she says, ruffling his hair. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Ryan lately.”

He shrugs and looks at the graphs in his books, surprised to realise that he understands them. Taylor’s a good teacher. “Yeah. He’s, uh.”

Taylor smiles. “It must be good to have someone else around to talk to. Someone who knows what you’re going through.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Chad dryly. “He’s been a real comfort.” He doodles in the margin of his notebook.

Taylor takes him through another set of problems. “You seem happy, lately,” she says.

Chad looks at her, but there’s no censure in her tone, only warmth. He lets himself smile, a silly, shy smile. “Yeah.”

At the end of the lunch period, she gives him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek, tells him to take care. It doesn’t feel like goodbye, more like good luck.

~

He catches Ryan after school in the parking lot. Although Ryan normally gets a ride to school with Sharpay, today he’s leaning against the bonnet of a classic silver Corvette, twirling the keys and smirking.

“Hey,” says Chad. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow above his designer – Chad has no doubt that they are designer – sunglasses. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” says Chad nervously. “About. Uh. This thing.” He waves his hands between them.

The eyebrow inches further north. “You want to talk about us,” says Ryan doubtfully.

Chad shrugs. “Look. I was – confused. Really confused. At first. When we started doing this.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t sure what was going on, and you were there, and you were such a good friend to me.” He stares at the ground. “You really helped me, you know? Helped me to figure things out. And I wanted to thank you for that.”

He looks up. Ryan’s face has gone distant and impassive. Chad’s stomach drops. “I’m not confused anymore,” he says softly.

Ryan looks away. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I want,” says Chad, bewildered by Ryan’s reaction.

“It’s fine,” says Ryan tightly. He gets in the car, slamming the door closed so hard that Chad flinches. “See you around, Danforth.”

He peels out of the parking lot at an alarming speed, leaving Chad standing next to the empty space, confused. Something just went horribly, horribly wrong, and he has no idea what.

~

He calls Ryan three times before he even gets home, but either Ryan’s phone is off or he really, really doesn’t want to talk. Chad stomps into his room without even saying hello to his mother, throws his phone on the desk, and seriously contemplates drowning himself in the bathtub.

He calls Troy instead. “I think I’ve made a horrible mistake,” he blurts out, before Troy has finished his greeting. “But I don’t actually know what I did.”

“O-kay.” Troy makes a thoughtful noise. “What happened?”

“I don’t know! Didn’t I just say that?”

“So, you’re sure you’ve done something wrong, but you don’t know what it is?”

“He just took off! We were talking, and I was trying to tell him about that thing we talked about on the weekend, and the he just shut down and drove away!”

“Ah.” Troy sounds as if he’s just figured something out. “You’ve done something to Ryan.”

“I didn’t do anything to Ryan!” says Chad, frustrated.

“But you just said you did.” Now Troy is really confused. “What is going on?”

Chad stares at the phone for a long moment. “Nothing, man. I’ll call you later.”

He hangs up the phone and falls face-first onto the bed.

~

He’s hoping to catch Ryan at school the next day, but is stopped when he sees the other boy. For the first time in a long time – perhaps since school started this year – Ryan is trailing behind Sharpay as she storms through the corridors. Chad stares at him for a long moment before he figures out what’s changed. Ryan has been spending the last few weeks in increasingly casual clothes - jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, baseball caps. Today he’s wearing a shirt buttoned up to his throat, pressed slacks, shiny shoes, and a bright pink newsboy cap. Worse: all of his clothes match Sharpay’s.

The worst part, though, is not the clothes or Ryan’s sudden truce with his sister. It’s that fact that Ryan, who hasn’t appeared to have any shame or embarrassment since junior high, who hasn’t ever backed down or failed to meet someone’s eyes, seems to have shrunk. He sidles along behind Sharpay with his shoulders tucked in and his head down, flinching away from contact.

Chad chases after him. “Ryan!” he calls, and sees Ryan stop, but not turn. He steps in front of Ryan and grabs his shoulders, forcing him to look up. “Can we talk? I think we should talk.”

Ryan pulls gently away. “It’s fine, Chad. You’re gonna be late for homeroom.”

“Can’t you at least tell me what’s wrong?” says Chad, despairing.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would anything be wrong?” Ryan tosses this last question over his shoulder as he walks away.

Chad wonders if you can drown yourself in a water fountain.

~

During free period, he goes looking for Ryan again, hoping to actually have a conversation with him this time, and figure out what the hell is going on.

He heads for the auditorium, figuring it as likely a place as any to find his wayward friend, but instead stumbles across Troy and Kelsi. They’re sitting at the piano, heads close together, Troy’s hands covering Kelsi’s on the keys. Chad takes one look at the scene and turns to flee with dignity, but Troy calls out to stop him.

“Chad! Hey. Looking for Ryan?”

Chad turns back. “Yeah.” He waves. “Hey, Kels.”

Kelsi blushes. “Hi, Chad. Actually, I’m glad I caught you, I have something I wanted to show you.”

Chad sighs and jogs up onto the stage. Troy nudges him. “Did you sort things out with him yet?”

Chad shakes his head mutely. “Can’t even find him.”

Kelsi is rifling industriously through her bag. “I know I had it – here!” She triumphantly produces a sheaf of papers and thrusts them at Chad. “I wrote you a song.”

Chad looks down – yes, it’s definitely sheet music. He never learned to read music and so can’t make head or tails of it, but the notation at the top reads ‘Rehearsals’ in Kelsi’s neat script. “You wrote me a song,” he says, disbelieving.

Kelsi blushes. “You and Ryan. And it’s not finished, I still have to put it into my computer and make it, you know, readable, but.” She rubs the back of her neck. “You think it’s stupid.” She reaches out like she’s going to take it off him, but Chad pulls it away.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” he says. “It’s just, Ryan’s not exactly talking to me right now. And I don’t know why, and he won’t even talk to me to explain.”

“Oh.” Kelsi deflates, looking glum.

Troy claps him on the back. “We’ll figure it out, man. Don’t worry.”

Chad allows himself to be briefly comforted by the empty but well-meaning sentiment. The doors of the auditorium slamming back and Gabriella storming in interrupt his moment of relief.

“Troy, have you seen – Chad.” She narrows her eyes, puts her hand on her hips, and then comes sweeping down the aisle and onto the stage like the wrath of God. “Chad Danforth, WHAT did you do to Ryan?”

“Nothing!” he squeaks, shrinking back against the piano leg and droppig the sheet music. An angry Gabriella is terrifying. Maybe he can hide behind Kelsi. “I just – he just stopped talking to me! I don’t even know what I said!”

She slams her hand on the piano, causing a slightly musical echo. “You’ve been using him! All this time he thought you actually cared, but you’ve just been using him to figure out if you were gay!”

“Not true!” Chad protests. “Also: what?” He hadn’t said that. He’s sure.

Gabriella glares. “He said that you said – never mind. You two need to talk about this. And I swear if he comes out hurting worse than he is I will end you, Danforth.”

She grabs him by the wrist and hauls him up. “I’d love to,” he tells her, “but every time I’ve tried talking to him, he blows me off. I don’t even know what I did. I never said any of that stuff, I know I didn’t.”

Gabriella frowns, but this time it’s her thinking-hard-frown instead of her scary-angry-frown. “Then why did he tell me you did?”

“I have no idea,” says Chad helplessly. “Also, why is he telling you this stuff at all?”

Gabriella shrugs. “He’s been telling me this stuff for a while. I think he likes having someone to talk to. He and Sharpay haven’t been getting on so great.”

Troy clears his throat. “Wait, you knew about this?”

Gabriella smiles suddenly. “Me and Taylor compare notes.” She looks thoughtful. “Ooh. We need Taylor’s scheming brain.”

“Wait, scheming?” Chad backs away, shaking his head. “I don’t want any scheming. I just want to talk to Ryan.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to talk to you,” says Gabriella firmly. “We need a plan.”

Kelsi tentatively raises a hand like she’s in class. “Could this help?” she asks, offering the pages of music.

Chad covers his eyes and groans. Nothing is ever simple.

~

It takes a little less than a week.

There’s a whole-school assembly on the following Monday and the schemers set this as the date for Chad’s big performance.

Chad suggests a campaign of writing letters to Ryan to make him see reason.

Kelsi prints out the music neatly and schedules times for him to come and practice, as well as making a backing tape so he can practice at home.

Chad points out that he could just stalk Ryan, sitting outside his bedroom window and begging him to listen.

Troy starts reaching out to the kids who inevitably end up organising the microphones, sound, lighting and other accoutrements for the big assemblies, which are too complicated for most of the teachers to comprehend. They’re going to have to be complicit in order for the plan to work.

In a fit of desperation, Chad suggests locking himself and Ryan in a room and letting them talk it out.

As a compromise, Gabriella and Taylor agree to sit on Ryan to make sure he stays in the auditorium and listens to Chad’s song.

Meanwhile, Ryan continues to be remarkably adept at avoiding Chad, switching seats in class so he doesn’t have to sit next to him, dodging away in the halls, sticking close to Sharpay. He keeps his phone turned off, doesn’t reply to Chad’s messages, rushes past him without looking when they happen to meet.

On Friday afternoon, Chad successfully corners him in the bathroom, only to have Sharpay come storming in to shove him roughly aside and drag Ryan away by his starched shirtfront.

The weekend passes in a blur. Chad thinks that if he has to hear the chorus of ‘Rehearsals’ one more time, he’s going to snap. His mother and sisters, predictably, think it’s sweet that he’s learning a song for Ryan, and even Nicole grudgingly wishes him luck. (“But if you guys ever break up he’s mine, okay?” “Sure, sweetie.”)

Monday dawns cloudy. Chad dresses himself with more than usual care, dread knotting in his stomach. If he screws this up he’s going to make a fool of himself, out himself to the entire school, and ensure that Ryan never speaks to him again.

He is so, so screwed.

~

Huddled by the stage door as the rest of the student body files into the auditorium, Chad contemplates his water bottle. Kelsi tells him it’s important to keep hydrated. Chad thinks about the mechanics of drowning yourself with a water bottle.

“I’d have to tip my head really far back,” he muses aloud, and shrinks back against the wall as a shiny, glittery student peels away from the rest of the students and stomps towards him.

No Ryan to warn him this time, and Chad considers running, but Sharpay is in his face with her sharp long nails before he can move.

She just stares at him for a long minute, her face set and angry. “You better,” she says stiffly. “You better not hurt him again, okay?”

“What?” Chad asks stupidly, and she rolls her eyes.

“He was happy, you know.” She’s not looking at him, glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended her. “You – he was happy. You were good for him. So just don’t hurt him again, or – or else.”

She pivots suddenly and stomps away, her high heels clacking dully against the linoleum.

Chad stares after her, a little afraid of how the entire world seems to be conspiring against him.

His water bottle, he decides, does not contain enough water to drown himself in.

~

There’s a strange sense of déjà vu, being behind the curtains in the auditorium, with Troy hanging onto his arm to stop him from running off to be sick.

“You’ll be fine,” Troy tells him firmly, fiddling with a wireless microphone. “Now, the interpretive dance guys are supposed to be on after Principal Matsui hands out the Community Award thingies, so you’re going on then. The stage will be clear, and Taylor talked to the girls and they don’t mind you stealing the spotlight for a little while.”

“Uh-huh,” says Chad, staring at the microphone like it’s a snake.

“So, you go on, and Kelsi will come from the opposite direction. They’re gonna cut all the other mikes except yours so you won’t be interrupted. Go on and do your thing.”

Chad shakes his head mutely. This is a thousand times worse than his moment of stage fright before the musical, because there’s no Ryan here to tell him he’ll be fine, that he knows this, that’s it’s going to be great.

“Yes,” says Troy. “You’ve come this far. It’s going to be fine.” He touches Chad’s shoulder. “Really.”

“Yeah,” says Chad, not really hearing him.

There’s polite applause from the audience, and from his place in the wings, Chad can see Principal Matsui walking off stage. Troy puts the microphone into his hand, straightens his collar, and shoves him out on stage.

The lights are very bright. He remembers this from the musical – face the audience, chin up, eyes on the back of the room. He can’t see much of the audience beyond vague, shadowy shapes at the periphery of his vision, blinded out by the spotlights in his eyes.

To his right, Kelsi clears her throat, nods, and begins to play. Chad raises the microphone with a shaking hand, opens his mouth and starts to sing.

When he plays basketball, part of his brain switches itself off. It comes from a place deep inside him that knows this movement so well that he doesn’t need the interference of his higher functions. Dancing with Ryan he had found a similar groove, learning the steps until they were second nature, until he didn’t need to think to do it, until he could just sit back and let his body do what it needed to.

He doesn’t have that luxury now. A week is not enough time for him to comfortable with this song, not enough time for him to learn it by heart, to know the feel of the mike and rhythm of the music. He has to think incredibly hard about the words and tune, too hard, and he knows his voice is shaking with nerves.

As his eyes adjust to the light, he can see the audience some. About halfway back, he spots Ryan trying to climb over Taylor to get out. She’s hitting him with her bookbag while Gabriella hangs onto his belt and Sharpay kicks his feet out from under him. Chad feels himself start to sweat.

He finishes the chorus with a sense of relief and swings into the second verse, feeling stronger already. He does know this song, and more than that, he means it. As it wasn’t finished, Kelsi had shyly consulted him about some of the lyrics, so these are his words, his emotions. He knows this.

The second chorus leads straight into the bridge, and Chad finds himself stepping forward, to the edge of the stage and staring appealingly out into the crowd, straight at Ryan, who sits back in his seat, defeated.

He closes his eyes for most of the final chorus. The lights are making them sting and he doesn’t think he can watch Ryan keep trying to get away.

As the music fades, there’s thunderous roar of approval. Chad’s eyes snap open in surprise – he’d been so focussed on Ryan, he’d almost forgotten the several hundred other people listening to him. Apparently he wasn’t bad.

The spotlight swings away, leaving him blinking at the sudden dimness. Principal Matsui is storming across the stage, looking thunderous at having his assembly disrupted, but Chad has realised that he can’t see Ryan, that he isn’t where he was. Gabriella and Taylor are standing on their seats, waving and pointing to the back of the auditorium, where he can just see Ryan disappearing out the doors. Running away.

“Young man,” says Principal Matsui, “never in all my years,” and there’s going to be more, and Chad is in so much trouble, but he really doesn’t have time.

“Sorry, sir,” he says, shoves the microphone at the astonished principal, and jumps off the edge of stage. “Punish me later!” he yells, and takes off after Ryan to the sound of applause and wolf whistling.

~

It’s starting to rain as he bangs outside, the door slamming hard into the wall. Ryan is already halfway across the lawn, and Chad chases after him with big fat raindrops splatting down around him. The school grounds are eerily quiet and deserted, the rumble of thunder and soft murmur of the rain the only sounds.

“Ryan!” he yells. Ryan stops, looking tired and small and defeated. He doesn’t turn around, just stands there and waits. “Ryan,” says Chad, puffing up beside him, and touches his shoulder.

With a startlingly sudden movement, Ryan spins around and smacks his hand away. “Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t – Jesus, Chad.” The look on his face is like something Chad has never seen before. When Ryan is unhappy, he closes off, shutters his expression. But right now he looks raw, wrecked, his eyes red and mouth trembling. It’s like he’s been split open, laid bare, and now is expecting to get smacked in the face for his troubles. Chad knows he put that expression there. He knows he has to fix this now, today, or it will never be fixable.

“Ryan,” he says, spreading his hands. He desperately wants to touch him, but knows he won’t be welcome, and oh, he’s got to fix this. “Please. Listen to me.”

“You’re an asshole,” says Ryan furiously, clenching his fists. “You fucking – why won’t you leave me alone?” He turns away, sharply. “You’ve had your fun. Your little experiment. Just leave me alone.”

“It wasn’t,” says Chad. “I wasn’t experimenting. I was confused, and you were there, and maybe at first that was it, but Ryan. Please.”

Still looking away, Ryan shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. Chad shoves his dripping hair out of his eyes, wishing the rain would ease up. “I ditched my friends to spend time with you,” he says quietly. “I danced in the musical. I-”

“What, you want me to thank you?” says Ryan incredulously. Chad tells himself that it’s the rain that’s making Ryan’s eyes all squinty and his face wet. “You think you get kudos for doing shit that a friend does?”

“No!” Chad’s no good at this, no good at talking about feelings. “I’m trying to tell you – you’re important to me. There are other things in my life, but you’re – I would skip every single basketball practise. I’d blow off my friends. I’d get up on stage in front of the whole school and sing about how I feel.” He can feel the rain spraying from his lips as he speaks, and scrubs angrily at his mouth. This isn’t how he wanted to do this.

Ryan finally turns to face him, looking bewildered and unhappy and wet. “I don’t understand. Why?”

“Because it’s important,” says Chad helplessly. “The first person you fall in love with – it’s important. Isn’t it?”

There’s a long moment of silence in which Ryan’s eyes go round and astonished. “Say that again.”

The bell rings shrilly in the background, and thunder rumbles. “You’re important to me,” says Chad.

To his surprise, Ryan laughs. It’s a helpless, hiccuping kind of laugh, but he’s smiling. “You dork,” he says and reaches out, fists a hand in Chad’s t-shirt and pulls him in.

Chad has no idea what’s going on, why Ryan suddenly changed his mind, but he doesn’t much care when Ryan comes in for a hug instead of a kiss, burying his face in Chad’s neck. “I guess I misunderstood,” says Ryan, muffled. “’m sorry.”

“Guess so,” says Chad, and touches the back of Ryan’s neck, his waist where his shirt is sticking to him in the rain. “I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t use you like that. You’ve gotta know that.”

Ryan just kind of nods. “That was the bell.” He squirms carefully out of Chad’s grasp with an apologetic smile. “Everyone will come out, they’ll see.”

Chad scowls. “Dude, I just got up on stage in front of the entire school and sang a love song for you. You think I care if they see?”

Ryan smiles shyly and bites his lip, and Chad just laughs and kisses him, right there in the rain outside the school. He keeps on kissing him as the front doors open and what must be half the school comes out, keeps kissing him even as they hear the astonished voices, curls his fingers into Ryan hair and kisses him and doesn’t stop until the applause starts and Ryan pulls away, laughing and blushing, to bury his face in Chad’s shoulder.


End file.
